Elysian
by Willow Battlegale
Summary: Slash. Four chapters. Michael and Fisk visit a secluded valley. K  for mild language and drinking, as well as hopeless romanticism. Yay someone else has read this series!
1. Chapter 1

**Well, I was going to resist writing yet another slash-tastic story, but I found a slash-free fanfiction so I'll balance it out with slash. Yay!**

**Excuse the Princess Bride-ish beginning.**

"Finally!" Fisk shouted, letting go of Tipple's reins and running down the grassy slope.

We'd decided to visit new places instead of struggling to find honest jobs. That had included a secluded area, called Elysian, of the country, a fertile land surrounded by huge mountains.

While up in the mountains, the last snow of the season had left us snowed up in a freezing cold cave, and we'd gotten cabin fever within minutes of being trapped in the relatively small space.

"Fisk, be careful for—"

He slipped and fell into a clumsy roll, with occasional somersaults.

"—Mud."

I ran down after him. He'd fallen into some tall grasses. I was praying I wouldn't find my squire sprawled out in some unnatural position. He was the only unredeemed one in this little knighthood, and he was the only reason I hadn't jumped off that mountain. I'd started glowing and giving off heat like a human lantern when we were stuck in the snow. My magic wasn't going away. It was getting _worse_.

"FISK!"

No answer.

Finally, I reached the bottom of the hill and crawled through the plants. Fisk was lying perfectly still.

"No," I whispered hoarsely. "No! Wake up, Fisk, wake up."

His eyes stayed closed, and I was shaking too much to see whether or not he was breathing. I hovered over him and pressed my fingers to his neck, trying to find his pulse.

"Please wake up."

"'Please' always helps." He said, grinning as he propped himself up on his elbows.

My hands lingered without my brain's permission. I leaned in and pressed my lips to his temple.

He shoved me off. "What the hell, Mike?"

"Sorry. I shouldn't have—" I stood up and started away, towards where Chant and Tipple were grazing at the bottom of the slope.

"Michael…"

"It won't happen again."

"Michael, you stubborn bastard, shut up and listen to me."

I turned, daring to half-hope he would say it was fine, wonderful…

"People go a little crazy when they get cooped up for long periods of time. Come talk to me when you're feeling normal, and then we'll work out what needs to be worked out." He said, putting his hands on my shoulders as if to steady me. "In the meantime we can pretend that never even happened. Let's go get a room at an inn so we can sleep in real beds for once. And you should have a drink."

"I don't drink."

"One little glass of whiskey won't kill you."

"If you say so…"

x-x-x-x

"Slow down. This is your eighth pint." I said, trying to tug the tankard from my squire.

"I haven't had anything but melted snow in weeks. I'll slow down when I die and not before."

"We've had enough irrationality today. You shouldn't make things worse by—"

Fisk leaned into my side. "You worry waaaay too much, Mike." He murmured with his lips against my collarbone.

"You're drunk, Fisk."

"And _you _should be. In all of our travels, we've never been totally drunk together. You've been drunk, I've been drunk, but not at once."

"Because someone has to make sure a bandit doesn't steal our money."

Fisk laughed. (He was definitely drunk.) "What money? I owe the innkeeper three days worth of work already!"

He shoved the tankard under my nose. And though I don't like whiskey, though I didn't want to be drunk, though I knew I'd have a hangover in the morning, I took the tankard.

I pressed my lips to the glass and couldn't help thinking that Fisk's lips had been on this glass too, that his warm hands had been wrapped around it, that it was the closest I'd ever get to what I wanted.

The drink burned on the way down, but it was nothing. I'd been heartbroken after Rosamund had ended up with Rudy. I'd slowly healed, but now I could see what—_who_—I truly wanted and it was killing me. But the whiskey made that part of me go numb, and I couldn't help being happy. Not with Fisk right there.

"Another whiskey!" Fisk yelled.


	2. Chapter 2

**Please note that my knowledge of hangovers is limited to knowledge of migraines (hangovers minus drinking, or so my parents say) and movies/book accounts. Inaccuracies are a good thing, since I'm underage.**

"Why did you let me drink so much?" I asked, not for the first time. My head was throbbing, the room was too bright even with the barest bits of sunlight poking in, and I was thoroughly nauseous.

"Because you wanted to."

"Doesn't your head hurt?"

Michael had been sitting with me since I woke up and vomited over the side of the bed, but he hadn't been sick at all.

"Of course it does. But I had two glasses, not nine."

"I dropped half of the last one."

"Maybe your feet soaked it up." He said, before grinning and shaking his head. "At the end of it, you were singing the words to ballad cycles about ancient battles."

"Shut up, Mike."

He sighed. "When will you stop calling me that?" He asked, still keeping his voice quiet enough to not make my head pound.

"Never."

"So, when do you want to talk about…what needs to be worked out?"

"When my head doesn't hurt."

"Alright. Go to sleep, Fisk. I'll be right here when you wake up."

What was that supposed to mean, anyway?

x-x-x-x

When I woke up, the room was warm from the sunlight pouring in the window. My head didn't hurt.

I rolled over. Michael was sleeping in the chair beside my bed, his head to the side in what couldn't be a very comfortable position to sleep in. I prodded him, and he sprung to life.

"Fisk! You're finally awake!"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I thought you'd be fine by dinnertime, but you slept right through the night."

I bolted upright. "Wait, I slept for a whole day?"

"And I thought 'twas impossible. You should get dressed if you're alright. The innkeeper wants us back here by sunset to catch the big crowds, but I figured we'd explore the forest today."

In the forest, alone with Mike? No prying eyes of tavern regulars or even horses…

"Alright!" I said, jumping up. "Let's go."

"Fisk?"

"Yeah?"

"Pants are _always_ a good idea." Michael said, handing me breeches.

I pulled them on as quickly as I could without falling over.

"Calm down. I know you want fresh air, but we can't afford a doctor right now, so if you get hurt we're so dead."

We? Well, yes, Michael would jump off a cliff or get his nose in dangerous business if I wasn't around, but he usually tried to deny that. Had he meant… Images of Michael being _thrown_ off a cliff rose unbidden in my mind. I'd died in that moment, just like Michael seemed to have. But that was because of my feelings for him, not because of my friendship with him.

He'd kissed my temple in the grass, but that wasn't… My _mother_ and _sisters _had given me pecks on the forehead. Lucy, when I'd been with her, had never kissed me on the temple. Because she didn't love me like a best friend or a family. But Michael did.

All the same, I couldn't help hoping that Michael would try again and make his feelings clear.

"Fisk. Earth to Fisk."

I jerked out of my reverie to find myself at the beginning of a shady forest trail. The forest world was set in shades of greens and browns a lot darker than the ones in the fields.

We followed the trail, taking the skinnier trails at every fork, until we were deep in the belly of the forest. The sunlight was filtered through the canopy and made the light green. Michael kept stopping and staring at plants, all of the magica ones. On one such occasion, I ran into him.

In the silence that followed, I heard running water.

"Hey, Mike, there's a river near here." I breathed in his ear.

"Great."

He turned his back, firmly, on the magica pokeweed plant and started down the slope towards the water.

"I could be wrong, but a repeat of yesterday seems to be—ah!" I slipped and crashed right into Michael, knocking him—and me—into the water.

Water went up tubes meant for air as I trashed around underwater.

Michael grabbed my shoulder and pulled me onto the bank. Shocked from the cold blast of water, I sat in the mud and shivered while Michael tried to wring out his clothes.

"Fisk, over here!"

I shivered in response.

Hands, warm through my wet shirt, heaved me to my feet and guided me to a sunlight sheet of rock. Once I reached it, I collapsed and tried to soak up the warmth.

"I'm so sorry I brought you in here, Fisk. Are you alright?"

My teeth were chattering. It was colder than I'd thought here in the forest.

Michael's arm went around my shoulders. He was completely dry, and glowing with red light and radiating heat.

"M-Michael, why aren't you soaked? You're glowing again."

"Magica." He said. "I really can't control it. I hate this. I hate Cecil for doing this to me. I hate my father for turning his back on me. I hate Jack for hurting you. I hate Rosamund for being with Rudy."

"Stop it. Mike—Michael, stop it. You're a hero. You saved Cecil twice, and all she did was hurt you. You saved George* even though you didn't know him at all. You saved Max and my family, after I abandoned you. You saved Rosamund and that ship when your heart was breaking. You spent your last coins to save me, a criminal and a stranger. And you've been saving me every day since then."

Speeches, at least encouraging ones, were not my forte. Sarcasm, crime, and fighting were more my level.

Michael stared down at me. It did occur to me that his arm was still around my shoulders, but I wasn't going to complain, not unless he did. And of course he would. This was the real world, and in the real world the hero gets the _girl_.

Not the Gift-less, small-town, former-criminal, broken-hearted squire. Nor any guy.

I tried to find the words to tell him that, but he was already on his feet and looking away.

"I should get you back to the inn."


	3. Chapter 3

I woke up to Fisk's voice. "Michael. Miiiiichael. Mike. Wake up."

"Why?" I asked groggily.

"Don't you want to explore the meadows today?"

The meadows. I'd missed my chance in the forest, but the plants in the meadow still provided enough privacy for me to at least talk to him.

"Of course, I simply forgot."

x-x-x-x

"Fisk?" I asked tentatively. We'd passed the walk onto the little hill in the meadow in silence, while I worked up the courage to talk to him. Now we were sitting and enjoying the spring air.

He turned and looked at me questioningly. "I'm listening."

"About that thing…"

"On the hill?"

"Yes. I didn't mean to offend you."

"You just startled me, that's all." He said, still waiting with a strange emotion in his eyes. "I shouldn't have reacted that way. I should've… Well, go on with what you were saying."

"It wasn't just from being cooped up. I wanted to do that when I was drunk, when we were in the forest, and right—I mean, I can't keep it in anymore. I've been avoiding the subject, but that's not honesty and I owe you honesty more than anything."

"Just spit it out."

"I'm…"

Fisk motioned for me to keep talking.

"I think you feel differently about me than I feel about you. I understand if you don't want to be my squire anymore."

"You mean… Oh. I see. I'm sorry, Michael."

We were both on our feet, and blushing too.

He didn't love me the way I loved him. My heart plummeted. "Don't apologize." I whispered hoarsely.

"I have to go, Michael. I'll… Send me a letter if your feelings change."

I shook my head. "They won't."

"Neither will mine."


	4. Chapter 4

"Fisk," Michael said gently, "You can take Tipple. And the money, since you can't hunt."

I wanted to hate him for not loving me. I could stand him shouting, or kicking me out. But being so damned kind made that impossible, so I had to stick to hating myself for ruining what we had.

"Thanks. But you can keep the money. I can earn it more easily." I indicated my wrists, the lack of tattoos.

Michael flinched, and I felt sick to my stomach for bringing up the subject.

'Well, I'm packed, so I'd better go."

"Where will you go?"

"I'll find a town where no one knows my name and take up an honest job."

He faked a smile. "That sounds great. I'm going to miss you, Squire Fisk."

"Not as much as I'll miss you, Noble Sir."

We stood there for a moment, staring at each other over the bag I'd packed. After all the stupid, reckless adventures, it was all over. Did it have to end like this? Did this have to happen every time I let myself be happy?

"Michael. You were able to do something I wasn't, and fair's fair."

My _former_ employer looked puzzled.

I leaned in and pressed my lips to his forehead before I could lose my nerve. While my lips lingered, Michael tilted his head upwards. His mouth met mine hesitantly, but even that light touch was enough to send my head spinning.

"I love you, Fisk." He murmured without pulling back.

"Don't. Don't say that."

"I will never hurt you."

Fact was that it hurt to be so happy after all this time. I thought my heart would burst as Michael's arms tightened around my waist and pulled me even closer. The bag fell off the little side table and crashed the ground, spilling its contents out. I ignored it and pushed him into the wall, smiling against his lips.

I leaned back for a second. "If the innkeeper walks in…"

Without either of us touching the door, it swung shut and locked.

"It's definitely a Gift." I said.

END.


End file.
